


Indefinable, Part Two

by chrissy2



Category: Lord of the Flies
Genre: Attempts at Recovery, Existential Crisis, Hinting at drugs and prostitution, M/M, PTSD, Post-Island, Reunion, trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrissy2/pseuds/chrissy2
Summary: There comes a chill so frigid that it makes both the young men burst to confession yet again: They had to start a fire.





	Indefinable, Part Two

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. No profit. (Also, I'm not as familiar with how court handles any kind of case, especially one like this, but hopefully it seems believable. Just a story, after all.)

**I**

_This is a real adventure! I bet no-one has discovered this!_

_We're on an inhabited island, but it is a great island._

 

**II**

There came the fading of the pearls of glisten in water and plants with leaves too large for any kind of path for beings of two legs and Ralph comes to by the gentle shaking of his shoulder.

"Hey. Ralph. I have to go to work. I want to know if you'd like to stay or leave."

"Oh, wow. It's already Wednesday? Have I really stayed here that long?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go then."

"You don't have to."

"I need to get back to my studies."

"Just drop out."

"Silly."

 

**III**

There comes a chill so frigid that it makes both the young men burst to confession yet again: They had to start a fire. There's a boy that steps through sand and oversized leaves, the smell of salt overhead, when Ralph crouches down by Jack as he lights the fireplace with a match, watching intently until the first tiny flames form. He isn't sure why he did it. He isn't sure why his assistance would be needed.

_Will you?_

 

**IV**

_Hey, wait for me! I can hardly move in all these creeper things._  

There's movement in the whites, the lights in the back. The lights blink: It's a face.

_If I paint my face, then maybe it won't see me..._

Ralph wakes up and sees Jack asleep in his arm chair across the couch. Odd.

 

**V**

_I told you not to tell anyone, and then you just said it straight out._

 

**VI**

There's a different feeling on the way to the bus station, a feeling similar to that fateful afternoon with the reporter: Construction work forces Ralph to walk that extra mile and this deep turn around is when he comes across these two pedestrians, a Mister and Misses. He half smiles and nods in consideration; their frowns deepen and it is here this most dreadful affair starts. The frowns are most disheartening, and the feeling seems to expand and push down, but Ralph nods and smiles again, trying to step passed them. The man and woman block his path. He thinks there's some kind of miscommunication and he says, "I'm sorry--"

The last syllable trails off from a blow to the head and the dusty gravel of the path is inhaled, blurs his vision.

"That's him! We found him!" The Misses waves a boney finger at him. "That's the boy!" 

Ralph's head is spinning and the Mister and Misses come out in fours. "W-what--"

"Come here, you!"

Ralph tries to crawl backwards, the gravel not gentle on his soft palms, but the large dry fingers grab a fist full of his collar and Ralph is pulled ahead, "Ack! Get off me!"

He brings his hands up and manages to wiggle out of the hold, reaching down for a blade in his pocket, to which the Misses grows hysterical at the sight of: "He's got a knife! He's dangerous! He wants to kill us!"

"You're the one who attacked me first!"

"You let my boy die! My little William! You did nothing!"

"What!"

Ralph's mind scrambled for an explanation and only one name came to mind: Piggy. So that was his name. He thinks about the 'Auntie' he used to speak of, but he never mentioned an uncle. Could they be...?

And as quickly as the blow and the dusty ground met his face, there came a windy shadow with fire on its head, blocking his path, shielding him, protecting him from the attackers.

"Hey!"

"Jack!" The very name is a gasp of release, a call too familiar. _Jack!_  He stands behind Jack, feeling like a child robbed of his sight, hopelessly and helplessly holding onto the rocks fighting ocean.

As the Misses flew into hysterics again, spouting accusations and conspiracies, another name came to mind: Roger.

"That wasn't me!"

"Why didn't say anything about it then?"

"Please, madam," Ralph brings his hands up to his face, massaging his eyes, his hair, scalp. "I have already thought about it enough. I didn't _want_ to read that blasted book. I see it when I go to sleep. I think about it when I'm awake. Why would I read about something I already think about everyday?"

"To save your ass!"

"There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about your son. It was Roger that killed him. He did it, but I don't think it was the intention to kill him. We were children. We didn't understand. We were playing games. He hit him with a large rock and he fell to his death. There was nothing I could do!"

"You're a liar! You're a liar! You should be locked up!"

_You're a beast and a swine and a bloody, bloody thief!_

"Madam, contain yourself," Jack bellows, the black cap and black coat not too far from a black choir uniform. "Or I will have to call the authorities."

"You won't call, you murderer," the Misses spits. "I know you: A filthy runaway and street rat and druggie and rent boy. You're just as bad as he is."

Jack's demeanor remains unfazed, and Ralph wonders what a young man has to fight against to have such a grasp on his temper; far from the easily-roused boy in body paint. "If you wish to harass my friend even further, I shall call the authorities and we will continue this fight in court."

 

**VII**

As soon as Jack closes the door behind him, home and safe at last, Ralph dives in for the button chest of his coat, shaking, huffing: "Oh, god!" It's times like this that make him want to wish them all back to Hell Island.

"It'll be alright," Jack whispers, one hand thumbing through Ralph's fair hair, the other around his waist. "It's okay."

"I'll never get out of this. They will always think of me as a murderer."

"Nothing lasts forever. And they're crazy. They're not sensible. Sensible people will see that we were just little kids, like you said. We didn't understand. We didn't know this would happen."

Ralph holds onto Jack tighter. He wants to disappear into the blackness of his coat and his scent.

 

**VIII**

_You'll get out alright._

_You'll get out alright._

_You stop it! What good is it you talking like that!_

_Ralph, mind me!_

_Ralph, don't leave me!_

 

**IX**

When Ralph had heard the knocks on Jack's door, his heart stopped and all his nerves stung in all places. Even so, out of habit, out of that social obligation to answer, he gulped down a breath to try and level is pounding heart, and walked to the door. He can feel his eyes widen, his very pupils dilate in fear at the undeniable color and design of the police uniform; different area, but Ralph knew: "Good afternoon."

"What's going on?" he hears Jack step up from behind.

"Are you Jack Merridew, the owner of this apartment?" the officer asks him.

"I am."

"And you, young sir, Ralph, is it?"

Ralph's mouth runs dry. "Yes, sir."

"I'm afraid you'll have to come with us," the man says, grabbing onto Ralph's shoulder.

"This is ridiculous!" Jack exclaims. "You can't arrest without any good reason! Those bats don't have anything to hold against my friend!"

"If you wish, you may follow us to the court house."

 

**X**

The blasted case seems to take an eternity, the beginning of a month and then the follow up of another: There was a transfer here and a transfer there, sign this, sign that; introductions, introductions; deadlines and complications along making amends meet, Ralph's studies and Jack's job and bills, and Ralph just wanted to crawl in a hole and stay there. Then once settled, the world still for one goddamn moment, it all came crashing down in a series of loud, volatile court arguments between Merridew and Mister and Misses Piggy, and Merridew wasn't even the accused.

Jack's tendency to resort to name calling made Ralph very anxious. The judge had slammed his hammer and told him to sit down countless times, threatening him with jail time if he didn't contain himself. But to Ralph's surprise, Jack was never sent to a cell in the slow month after month, and he was pretty nasty at times.

_That was a dirty trick!_

A part of Ralph had a voice similar to that of William's, and it would never go away for as long as he lived. That boy was his most loyal friend and he knew no one would compare for the rest of his days. If only William's parents knew that they were trying to bring justice to same thing. The William part of Ralph's mind found the judge to be a rather compassionate and sympathetic man, who was more annoyed by his parents than the opposing party.

Jack once bellowed the very question that everyone seemed to be thinking at some point during the trial: "Why did you wait two goddamn years to bring the whereabouts of your son to court? Say! See? Clever - " - ( _See? Clever) -_ " - You know he never once spoke about you while we were on that island. NEVER - " - (Ralph tried to think of a time he stood around to hear about the infamous 'Auntie'; surprising) - " - He always bragged about his aunt and how much she cared for him. Sounds to me like you're just trying to redirect your guilt. And if not that, you're looking for fame and money. You're shit for parents and you should never have been."

 

**XI**

_It started out great, but then somehow we got broken up._

 

**XII**

Ralph had found his own opportunities to speak with William's parents directly - (more gently, of course) - again, expressing how much he loved their son and how he missed him, how he would give anything to find his body and give him a proper burial.

Both Ralph and Jack gave their side of the story, their story of Hell Island, and in the end, regardless of whether or not it was true - there was no real way of knowing how William died or who the murderer was, if it was indeed a murder. There was no body, as they had explained it was washed out to sea, as was Simon's. Their side was then compared to the printed interviews from the book that capitalized their horrors.

A search for the body on the island was discussed and for once, it was something everyone in court agreed on.

"And..." Ralph spoke up once, a rarity as he was usually taciturn and shy; all the heads turn in his direction. "Look for Simon too, if you have to. To be fair. He washed out to sea too, but if you really want to make sure, look for him too."

 

**XIII**

"Can we have another fire when we get back?"

"Of course. Don't mind them. This fucking trial shouldn't go on for too long. If anything, there'll just be assault charges. I wouldn't care if they charged me at this point. I just want it to be done and done."

"I don't want to think about it. Not right now."

"I see."

After Ralph stopped at a booth and phoned his family on the affairs of the trial, they headed home and huddled in front of the hearth, close together, sharing a single blanket. Ralph tried to enjoy another evening in front of the fire, his poker face not as convincing at Jack's, but all he could think about was how he couldn't face his classmates after this.

 

**XIV**

Ralph's eyes slowly open: His body is flat on its backside, sore, but that comforting sore, you know. The hardwood floors are unusually relaxing. The soot of the fireplace is stone cold and there's the empty bottle of gin Jack and him shared at its step. Curiosity consumes him and he turns his head to the opposite floor side: The young man that slumbered next to him is already up and away to wherever.

 

**XV**

Ralph had heard of familiars visiting people in their dreams, assuring them everything was alright, that the angels and the Lord was with them and all that, before what most assumed was them 'passing on'. But he never dreamt of William; not in that sense, anyway.

He once dreamt that William had not been instantly killed when he fell forty feet and his head fell open into red. He dreamt that he was still moaning, pleading for Ralph to end his suffering. He woke up when he reached for a rock.

During this most ridiculous trial, it was Simon - err, the illusion of Simon - that came to see him. Ralph had been swimming out in the ocean. He ducked his head beneath the surface and saw Simon underwater with him, smiling at him. He could speak underwater too:

"You will make it out alright. You will. I know it."

 

**XVI**

_I don't believe in the Ghost thing._

_I've been thinking: what if it's only us?_

 

**XVII**

Another fire: Ralph enjoys a good lay onto Jack's shoulder and Jack pets his fair hair.

"I've been thinking," Jack starts.

"Yeah?"

"We should go away."

"Go away where?"

"It doesn't have to be far, or it can be if you want: France or Spain, to the States, wherever. You just cannot be here right now."


End file.
